


beauty is a fading flower; love goes on and on

by honeybadgers



Series: all the things left unsaid [2]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Angst, Death, Fluff, M/M, enjoy, i don't wanna read my fic all over again for the research, idk i probs missed people, other stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 19:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11320452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybadgers/pseuds/honeybadgers
Summary: When the last petal falls, time stands still.





	beauty is a fading flower; love goes on and on

**Author's Note:**

> it took me like 1-2 months (yeah im that horrible) but this fic is dedicated to marlies, rosanne and daphne, the biggest versainz hoes imaginable and the ones who continually inspired me and pushed me to finally finish that goddamn fic
> 
> title taken from "beauty is a fading flower" by tom t. hall

The rain was crashing down in the night that his childhood died.

At first, it seemed normal. A young boy -around 10 years, with light brown hair- was reading in front of the hearth, while he was surrounded by the spines and the smells of all the books in the library. He loved being there, it was his spot. He had made himself comfortable in the seat, being accompanied with a cup of tea and a blanket.

And then he hears it, almost unnoticeable. A knock, quiet and fragile. He wants to ignore it, because people who come knocking on doors are beggars or murderers. And his parents learned him to ignore those late night knocks.

But they aren't here.

So he pushes the blanket away, closes the book and walks towards the door. He opens it, slightly, to prevent rain from coming inside the house.

He saw an old woman, drenched and obviously freezing. Her gray hair was sticking on her face and the black coat, or rather what was left of it, tried to cover up her tiny body.

“What do you want?”

He suddenly realises that he said that harsher than he wanted to do.

“Just a warm blanket and a shelter for the night. For this rose.”

And he wants to say no, because she disturbed him from his reading and because he doesn't trust her. Everyone in a good state of mind knows this is madness, to ask for shelter at this time with this weather. For a rose even.

“No.”

And he closes the door.

And just after he had closed the door, he sees a bright light shining through the keyhole. He reopens the door. What did just happen?

Well, something definitely happened.

The old, almost ugly woman was gone. And on her spot was a beautiful woman with raven black hair and bright green eyes, almost forest green, the kind of green you see through the trees when the sun shines through it. Intriguing, angry green eyes. She wore a matching green dress, and she almost looked… perfect.

“Is that how you treat your people? They will hate you and despise you. And you need some lessons.”

After she spoke out the last words, his hands started to become furry and he panicked because what is happening to him? His hands, and then his arms and his torso. And he touched his face, and oh my god, what did he just turn into?

“You will spend the rest of your days like...this, like a beast. And if no one starts to love you before you are twenty-one, when all the rose petals have fallen, you shall forever remain a beast.”

She leaves, like a cloud of dust.

And he suddenly realises something.

It isn't raining anymore.

Even the sky doesn't mourn about everything that had happened, like he deserves this.

He starts to laugh at the coincidence.

____________________________________________________________________

His life mainly involved his father, roses, books and new inventions.

And he adored it.

He adored that there was only the two of them, it had been all his life this way, he was used to it. Everyday went the same. In the morning they ate breakfast together while being surrounded by unfinished experiments and the smell of oil and wood.  
In the afternoon he went to the small library in the village. Getting new books everyday, because books never tire and no matter how many times he had reread them, he always found something new and fascinating in every part.  
And in the evenings they always tried to invent new things in the light of the candles and sometimes, they together read books in a peaceful silence, both too absorbed in the story.

“You have already read them twice!” he hears the owner say. He was a small man, even smaller than he was himself, and he had a small moustache and had a tanned skin. He was just remembering the conversation they had, just a few minutes ago after he got five books for himself to read -and he had read all of them at least once.  
“But that doesn’t make them any less special.”  
“I have never known a person who is so passionate about books.”

And once he closed the door of the library, he heard someone approaching with such a volume that he wasn’t even surprised when he heard him calling him out.

Not again. Of all the people, it should be him. Why?

“Hey beautiful.”

He wants to ignore him and walk further, towards his house, where he can read his recently loaned books in peace accompanied with some tea. But he knows he doesn’t get away with it easily. And before he even can start walking in the first place, he feels a hand on his chest, pushing him back, preventing him from walking.

“Let me be, Jev.”

“Why should I? You are way too intriguing, and I won’t allow myself to slip my attention away from you.”

“Just. Let. Me. Go.”

He pushes himself away from him, ignoring the muttering of the guy behind him.

“I will get you one day darling. And once I have you, I won’t let you go, Chili.”

____________________________________________________________

“Do you need to go again? I thought you didn’t need to go for the upcoming three weeks.”

They both don't like it when he needs to go in all of a sudden, without any explanation why. It isn't that this is a rare occasion, it had happened several times, but being alone for the upcoming days isn't something he usually looks forward to.

“It is urgent. I can’t talk myself out of it, I am sorry. Is there something so I could some sort of apologise to you?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I insist.”

“Choose. Choose for yourself, choose what makes you happy.”

“I will.”

And he approaches his father and hugs him, planning to never let go of the strong hold he has around him and just the slight motion of his father's chest, because honestly, he is that tiny, and the fresh smell of oil and wood and work. The smell of everything he has known and he always will adore. He cherishes these moments, afraid that they will stop one day.

“See you soon then, my little churro.”

“See you soon Dad. And come back.”

__________________________________________

He didn't return. But his horse, Jerez, did.

Something is wrong.

He would have never go without his boss. He would have never look this… haunted.

“What is wrong?”

He doesn't even have to ask. The way the horse tries to get loose and that is how he knows that there is something going on with his father.  
And he refuses to believe that. He hates the idea of his father being hurt. Awful scenarios cross his mind, that he is dying somewhere in the woods, that he has been eaten by the wolves and no, not that. Not to him.

“Show me the way.”

____________________________________

It feels like it is taking hours and hours until Jerez finally stops. He jumps from it, and he hears the crack of snow underneath his feet when he finally lands on the ground. Tall, dark gates are in front of him. He can't see that much but he knows that this castle used to be beautiful once. He sees a fragment of a statue, or rather, what was left of it. Its face was fallen onto the ground, looking miserably at hi,.

“Stay here Jerez, I will be back soon.”

He leaves the horse there, hoping that he still would be here once he is out of this place, with his father preferably. He wants to open the gate, but he quickly notices that the gate has already been slightly opened. It might be the wind, but he doesn't know. It might be too easy. But he feels it. His father is in here.

He forces the massively high gate open and he walks towards the entrance, the snow pushing themselves away for his feet. The doors are high and dark brown, almost black, and are made of some sort of wood. But he can't see it clearly due to the already upcoming darkness. The door was slightly opened, again. It went further wide after some pushes and with lots of cracking, at least enough so his body can go pass the door.

“Dad?”

The echo still follows him when he starts to walk into the castle, hoping that he would come out of this with his father.

He doesn't know though.

It is ancient, and majestic and certainly this used to be a beautiful castle, but through all the years and the neglection of it the place almost seems haunted.

He sees a broken mirror, dusty curtains, marble floors and he realises that this might have been the ballroom, in old times.

“Dad?”

____________________________________________________________________

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.”

“Jesus Christ Felipe what is going on?”

“Everything but literally everything.”

“English please.”

“There is someone in the castle.”

And Daniel goes absolutely speechless because who visits this castle? No one but a madman. Or a lost one. And he runs (well, as fast as his clumsy body could handle) because who is this person and what is he doing here and might he be the one who changes everything here?

He doesn't hear Felipe calling him that he should wait for him.

____________________________________________________________________

“Dad, Dad! Is that you?”

He had a voice, small and weak, yet he knew the familiar voice. He came rushing towards the source of it and it felt like he had run a marathon until he finally found him and he hugged his father, while they were separated by the bars, until he couldn't breathe anymore. It was a long hug, in which no words were necessary to describe their relief.

“Oh my god, are you okay?”

“I am fine, but you need to go quickly, otherwise he might find you.”

He feels his dad’s hands shaking, his breath becoming slightly ragged. And of course, it is freezing here and he is afraid and they should go, away from the place he father is obviously so afraid of, and just go home. Where they can read a book in silence accompanied by the cracking of the hearth.

“I don't care if this person finds me. We need to go, together, now.”

“I don't think so.”

He is petrified, and he sees his father scratching himself up and making his way towards the shadows. And he knows this is the person his father was so afraid of.

“Who are you?” He tries to sound strong, to sound brave, for the sake of both of them. He tries to be the voice and say the words his father couldn't say right now.

“A picture says more than thousand words. Do you wanna see it?”

He turns around, and he watches the … creature in front of him. It looks like a beast, but not like one kind of a beast, it has a bit of everything. And a normal person would be afraid of the appearance, but he himself is too absorbed in his own thoughts that he isn't looking as much as he wants to.

“He is my prisoner, therefore he shall not be set free.”

He himself, with flushed cheeks due to the cold and the adrenaline, stayed quiet. He is sitting and looks to the entangled hands of him and his father. He doesn't move. But suddenly he gives his dad a small twitch in the hands and he looks at him, almost like he is apologising. Then he looks away from him and stands up.

“Then I want to take his place.”

Then it all becomes a haze for him. He hears the screaming of someone, someone who he can't place his name on. He feels a furry hand taking him away and he hears more screaming and crying and he feels numb. He feels numb and in shock and once the beast had put him somewhere he doesn't know where but it surely is cold, he let the tears fall.

Because he doesn't know what to do and he realises what he had lost. The whole day is a complete haze, but fragments are starting to piece together like a puzzle. The sobs became louder, more frequently, and he dazes himself off into a restless sleep.

He wakes up with a tear stained cushion, one which he hadn't noticed last night. At least, one he doesn't remember. There is no such thing as a cell right now. He sleeps in a normal bed in a normal room and he doesn't remember when he got here. He didn't mind, but all of a sudden, the events of yesterday cross his mind again. And he sobs, silently, trying to muffle his cries in the cushion.

____________________________________________________________________

“My God, if we hadn't talked him out of this stupid idea to let him stay in that cell he would have died!”

“Oui oui, he would have. But here we are! Saving the day! But he needs to be careful, if that boy is going to stay here for a while, he should treat him right, and not like he is some scum. You know that he could be the one? The one who can break the curse?”

“We know, Daniel, we know.”

“Does he realise as well?”

“Of course he does, that is all he can think about.”

“We all think about it.”

____________________________________________________________________

Knocking on the door.

“Are you hungry?”

A voice, unknown to him. But the Spaniard actually is hungry. He hears his stomach rumbling -breaking the silence- and he wants to hide away. He quickly puts his hands on his stomach, desperately trying to cover it. But Carlos knows it doesn't work anyway.

“You apparently are. We already prepared some breakfast for you.We didn't know what you actually liked, so we made a bit of everything.”

He didn't know where the voice came from, but once the door was opened, he saw there was a talking clock, candlestick, teapot and teacup. He was surprised, because talking attributes? He never heard of it. But he was fascinated and he already loved them. They gave him a welcome and happy atmosphere.

They really meant it when they said that they had a little bit of everything. He saw eggs, toast, jam, fruit and everything else he only had dreamed of finding on a plate.  
He ate it all quickly but he was taking his time to cherish the taste of the fresh strawberries and the taste of fresh-baked bread.

“Thank you, thank you.”

“If you need something, just give us a sign.”

“I will, and again, thank you for the lovely meal.”

____________________________________________________________________

He spends the rest of the day wandering around his room. He at least wants to know where he will be sleeping. One moment, he finds a small pile of books and he spends the whole afternoon reading on his bed. But it wasn't that easy to pretend like yesterday never really happened. He still remembers himself crying out loud for no reason. The story didn't have a reason to cry, but his eyes started to get teary and sobs got out of his mouth. He cried so loud that he closed the book and just started sobbing until the cushion because wet of the tears.

You can never really forget.

____________________________________________________________________

“He would like that you will join him for dinner.”

He is not going to play dumb, because he knows well enough who they refer to.

He suddenly gets this complete feeling of anger. This is not a thing of things happen and life goes on. This is a case of your life crashing down, losing everything you had ever considered as normal. He doesn't understand.

“No.”

He hears them speaking quietly to each other frantically. He can't catch everything they say, only the words oh no and the master will be angry and it should be scaring him but it didn't.

They wouldn't be able to convince him anyway.

____________________________________________________________________

The one who invited him is sitting at the table. It is decorated fancy, the candlelight giving a welcoming gloom over the food. The perfectly washed plates and and spoons and forks and knives are shining brightly. And there is food, so much food not even the two of them could eat everything.

It feels like a long time since it looked like this, he thinks miserably.

He brings himself back to the times how it used to be. When it was full of light and hopes and dreams. In which the chandeliers were shining brightly and people were lightly chatting to one another. He remembers the bubbles of the champagne that they used to drink, the dresses of the women in all the colors imaginable, the warm fire the hearth gave to him in the library. Listening to the clattering of the rain on the windows while he was sitting peacefully at home.

He feels like crying, but he doesn't allow himself to. He doesn't allow himself to cry, because he will fall apart and he will look weak and he never should look weak. Because where did it get him?

He gulps, trying to erase the memories of that particular night. How much he longs for it to be over, to fall in love and turn normal again. He knows he doesn't stand a chance, but he keeps hoping. That he isn’t bound to live like this forever.

He is starting to forget how he looked like. How would he look like now?

Don't look weak.

“He doesn't want to come. The prisoner, I mean.”

And the frustration and fright overrule his sane being. He is afraid that everything will fail. That everything was hopeless. That he was just waiting. And he doesn't want him to go, maybe his one and only chance, and it feels like everything is crippling apart, in front of his own eyes. He doesn't know how important this is for him.

And then everything is a rush, a complete haze, like rain that is coming down so hard and so fast that you can't see where you actually are.

He remembers someone screaming, he hears more screaming, the sound of someone crying passes his mind, he hears poundings on the door. He hears everything, but remembers nothing.

But he knows one thing for sure.

He fucked up.

____________________________________________________________________

He is tired. He is oh so tired.

He hears the screaming, he feels the pain his voice has due to all the screaming. He remembers himself saying so many things, so many awful things. And on the one side, he feels relieved to let all his frustrations out. But on the contrary, he wants to take back everything he had said, because it is not a monster. He might look like one, but he also has feelings, he has opinions, he is human in some sort of way.

He is silent, lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He had put his hands on his stomach. The only thing that could be heard was the ticking of the clock.

Tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock.

And then he hears his stomach rumbling.

He cringes at the sound, because it felt like it had broken every sound barrier.

And the boy decides to walk towards the kitchen to fetch some food.

“Ah monsieur! What is the reason you are coming here?”

“Well, I wanted to have some food.”

“Ah oui oui, but you know. What is a meal without music?”

And suddenly the clock jumps around the corner

“Sst, he shouldn't hear this.”

“Don't worry that much. Do some dancing!”

He is stunned by the passion and the devotion and the enthusiasm they show while preparing the meal. He definitely didn't expect this when he wanted to come down for some food, but this is good. Hell, this is amazing.

After the delicious meal and the beautiful music, in which his stomach is way too full, he settles himself on the bed.

He falls asleep restlessly, he doesn't know what to feel. He doesn't know what to think.

____________________________________________________________________

“The last few days have been hard for you, but do you mind having a tour through the castle?”

The clock jumps around in curiosity, excited to show everything the place has to offer.

“Of course.”

The Spaniard smiles at the excitement both the objects show.

____________________________________________________________________

“And well well, this is the ballroom. The home of many extravagant dresses and men in suits. But this isn't the masterpiece yet.”

“What is it then?”

“The oh so majestic library.”

The word library makes him feel more energized. This place has a whole library on its own. Amazing.

And all of a sudden, he stands next to some majestic stairs. Where does this lead to? The steps are dusty, like no one even dared to set a step on them. Fascinating. And with his hand he touches the cold stone, and he sees that his fingertips have become dirty. He just wants to set his foot on the first stair, but the screaming stops him.

“Don't go there! It is the West Wing, which is an restricted area.”

The West Wing.

Everywhere except there.

“Why?” He asks with his sweetest voice, because he definitely wants to know what is hidden there what makes them so panicky.

“Uh… Dangerous! It is on the verge of falling apart!”

“Therefore, don't go there. Would you like to see the library? I can see the glimmer of curiosity in your eyes. Let's go.”

The clock and the candlestick stumble forward, excited to show him the library.

But he doesn't follow them.

And someone else sees that.

A dramatic swing with his cloak and he is gone.

__________________________________

The West Wing is certainly not falling apart.

Yes, there is broken furniture all over the place. Yes, he feels being watched with all those broken mirrors reflecting his shattered face. Yes, he sees a partly damaged painting. A massive one, destructed by… claws?

There are three persons in the painting. Two tall people. One small child. The part in which the taller people are standing, probably the parents, has been taken good care of. At least recently, since that part is stripped of dust. Next to the two people, however, is a piece completely torn, parts hanging on a tiny scrap. The contrast between this, two completely different sights in one frame, is striking. He wonders how his face looks like. He wonders if he will even be able to see a face.

He isn't exactly sure. So he grabs a loose hanging part of the painting and tries to push it back to place.

He sees a young kid, around nine years old. He has a slight smile, which makes it impossible for him to know what he actually thought when it was made.

He looks cute.

Is this how the beast used to look like before?

The thought slips his mind, and honestly, he wouldn't be surprised. But it just stands so far away from the guy.

But before he could wonder more about it, he suddenly notices something, in the far corner of his eye. A shimmer of red light. A light he hadn't seen in the room earlier. He might have been wandering around this place for a short while. At least, it feels like time is passing so slowly.

The light lures the small man. He doesn't know where it will lead him to. He notices himself stepping over broken mirrors, simultaneously focusing on the light.

Slowly the light starts to become a shape, an object.

A rose.

It is standing, or rather floating, underneath a stulp. He knows roses, and he certainly knows he has never seen anything like this before.

Several rose petals are already lying on the ground, yet the rose still looks freshly.

He doesn't notice the person standing behind him.

He suddenly feels his feet hanging above the ground, someone grabbing his shirt and he feels fur underneath his chin.

He has read this in books, in which the protagonist just gives the villain a good punch and he is released from his grip.

But right here, right now, there is no such thing as the good guy and the bad guy.

And he is really afraid.

He hasn't seen him mad like this.

“Get out of my sight! I don't want to see you right now!”

And Carlos runs. He vaguely remembers getting a cloak from god knows where, he hears screaming somewhere in the back of his mind. He runs until his breath becomes ragged, until his heartbeat is pumping in his throat, until his face is as flushed as strawberries, until his legs beg for some rest, until his stomach starts to sting so much that the only thing he can think of is the pain the pain the pain.

He is surrounded in a forest, a dark forest. The dark trees in contrast with the freshly fallen snow cracking underneath his feet. Snowflakes are falling again, and he sees the snowflakes dwarreling on his cloak, almost like a tender touch of a long lost friend, before the flakes melt and are absorbed in the cloak.

All there is left of them is a memory.

The world was just black and white. Right there, right now, always.

And it seems so long ago that he was here. Was he even here? He doesn't know where he is.

And then there were the footsteps.

The yellow eyes.

The sharp teeth.

Wolves.

His first instinct is to flee, but his body isn't cooperating. His body wants to fight. He feels his hand grabbing a branch and just as the wolf -with his vile teeth and murderous look on its face- wants to attack him, he smashes it right in the face.  
The wolf is thrown in the air and with a howl, he crashes onto a tree nearby.

In the small moment of victory, the Spaniard wasn't prepared for the attack of the other wolf, just as vile and with a much more look of determination that just wants to kill the boy. The sudden impact of the wolf surprises and he is thrown onto the ground, the snow almost screaming in excruciating pain.

He lost his only armor in the fall. He can still feel it brushing against his fingertips before it left his hand.

He can't bring in any fight.

He will die.

He closes his eyes, and he waits for the fatal bite. He waits for the flesh tearing apart from his body. He waits for the feeling of blood. And he waits for the emptiness. At least, some people say it will be light right before you die, some people say it will be just a black hole of nothing.

But there is no light. And there is no nothing.

There is an heavy weight falling of him -literally- a cry and a growl.

He reopens his eyes. There are no growling teeth facing him. It is just the while sky, adorned with the black branches, making the combination almost a work of art.

No time to wonder.

Immediately he notices he can move freely and that he can leave.

But the broad silhouette a few metres away stops him.

The beast is fighting with the remaining wolves who dare to fight. It is not a pretty sight, not like how he ever expected it based on his reading experience. Carlos almost can't see him, he sees grey fur brown fur and he hears growls growls growls. And he should be thinking about the fact he is in danger but his mind is fully focused on the fact that he came. He came for me, a person so stupid who couldn't resist to do the thing he absolutely wasn’t supposed to do.

He sees a brown furry arm smashing a wolf away. He crashes against the tree and the Spaniard hears bones breaking apart and he cringes.

And all of a sudden, in the blink of an eye, it happened.

He got bitten in the shoulder. The beast immediately tried to cover up his wound with his other hand, not before giving the wolf who bit him a good punch.

They are gone, or dead.

The beast falls.

__________________________________

He wakes up with excruciating pain in his shoulder.

He remembers everything again.

Attack it. Cover it up. His first instinct.

“Stop. Don't do that! I am just trying to help you. Don't worry. I won't hurt you.”

The familiar face is meeting his gaze. His black curly hair is enhancing his face like a halo. He slightly stuck out his tongue focusing hard on rinsing the wound.  
And suddenly the beast wants to hit himself. Because he had been throwing his hand towards the boy like an attack. The fear is still slightly in his eyes, but he has a determined look on his face, almost unbothered by the almost hit. He feels like hiding, digging his own hole and never leave it.

“I am sorry.”

“You know, all of these things wouldn't have happened if it weren't for you scaring me.”

I know I know I know I know

“You shouldn't have fled.”

Here is your temper again, idiot.

“You shouldn't have your temper taking the upper hand.”

There was nothing to say.

But he wants to say thank you thank you thank you for not leaving me behind there and thank you for taking care of me, I don't deserve you.

______________________________________

Things have changed between them. They don't avoid each other anymore. They have dinner together. They laugh. They share small gentle looks to each other. They try to cook, but it horribly fails because the furry person can't keep the eggs in his hands. And when the first egg falls out of his hand, he almost looks in embarrassment. And in response the smaller boy purposely lets his own egg fall out of his hands. The cake doesn't happen. They get themselves in a food fight, and the objects stare curiously. It is possible.

A few weeks later, the snow is still lying down, but it wasn't that cold anymore like the past weeks. There were no snowstorms whatsoever, so for them it was a perfect opportunity to go outside. Carlos has all the birds in his hands, around his feet, like the cliché princesses who just start to sing and all the birds are at their feet, begging for more, asking for more, demanding for more. The beast, however, doesn't feel comfortable. The birds go away from him, and he understands. He would have done the same. The beast is too focused but suddenly he sees birds standing in front of him. And also… seeds?

He looks up and he sees a slight smile.

Max can't help but blush and he is suddenly glad he has some fur.

And he tries to be sure that the boy didn't notice him blushing.

So he does the first thing that comes in mind.

He throws a snowball at his face.

“What was that for?”

And for one awful moment, Max thinks he is angry. He regrers throwing it, and he suddenly wants to be like those birds, able to fly away from danger and to not come back for a while.

Until his face met a little ball of snow.

“That is something I prefer to call payback!”

He wants to throw that smirk off his face, and it is too bad that Carlos doesn't know he is very good at aiming, very good.

They laugh afterwards about it. They laugh because they both ended up half frozen and completely wet. They try to determine who is the most soaked, but they come to the conclusion that they just both are soaked. And after drinking some hot chocolate in the library, Carlos falls asleep.

Max carries him gently to bed.

Bridal style.  
_______________________________________________________________

Max had prepared himself more for this than a normal person would do. But what is the definition of normal here?

They had planned this, every detail possible was prepared and there was nothing that could go wrong. There was thought about everything and anything. The way they would surprise him by showing the library. And he can already imagine the delight coming off his face. The slight spark igniting from his eyes. He even imagines small hands embracing his body. A thing which probably won't happen anytime soon though.

“Where are we going?” the boy asks. He is blindfolded and he has absolutely no idea where they are heading to. He feels the hesitation from him, carefully thinking about every step he sets. Slowly but surely his steps started to become more confident, more sure. And from the inside Max is glowing with excitement because he really wonders what he will think of it and he wonders how Carlos will look when he sees the spines and the smell of wood and the chair, where he used to sit in when he was younger, going through all the pages.

“Are we there yet?”

“We are.” He gently says. Max can't help but notice that his heart starts to flutter when he gently touches the Spaniard’s back, or when his voice just screams curiosity.

Impossible. Unrealistic. Not gonna happen.

“Stay there.”

And he does. With his big paws he opens the doors, and he already sees the massive spines and it gives him a feeling of nostalgia. After allowing himself to have a deep sigh, he turns his back and walk towards the boy.

“A few steps and then you can get rid of the blindfold.”

And the boy does and the boy removes the fold.

“This is all yours.”

He just stands there, and for one agonising moment, he thinks it is not good enough, that he wanted more or even worse, that he hates it.

And suddenly Carlos starts to move, gently touching the spines with his fingertips, like a musician playing the piano. He walks around, he looks at the covers, he feels the old leather bound spines and he smells the library at his fullest. The longer he walks, the brighter the smile and Max can't help but letting go of an heavy weight of stress and doubt.

And when the boy finally starts to face him, he has tears in his eyes.

“Thank you.”

By the time the words actually processed his mind, the smaller boy has his arms around his body, at least, as much as possible.

This is even better than he had imagined.

_______________________________________

They have spent many hours sitting in the library reading. Or well, Carlos narrates the story and Max listens. Mainly because the latter is afraid that he might destroy the books with his claws, and in his mind he can already hear the sound of paper being torn apart. He can imagine the broken books who have lost their ability to speak for themselves, lost their function. There are so many books that he has read himself. Once they are broken it might have felt like he officially lost his mind, lost his childhood. It never happened, but he wasn't able to actually.

So he just listens, ignoring the awful thoughts and listens to him. He just listens to the soft sound of his voice, slowly but surely captivating him into the story he has read so often before. But it feels like he makes the story feel like something extraordinary, like it is something completely new and it just feels like he has heard about the story for the first time. It is amazing.

And he is lost again.

____________________________________________________________________

“Really? A dance? You both know that I hate dancing.”

“But that makes it so special, you know. That you are trying something for him. And yes it might not be perfect and it might not be graceful, but it is full of love and affection. And that, my boy, is worth way more than any perfect step and any perfect swirl.”

“It is the ultimate chance! Maybe the last even, because you know the petals are falling down and not much time is left.”

“It is. But that means that everything should be right. And you guys can do this amazingly, so I am the only one who could possibly ruin this.”

“You won't! Stop telling yourself that. If I could, I would punch you in the face because you are such an idiot. You are amazing and you should tell yourself that. We all believe in you.”

A deep sigh.

“I can do this I can do this I can do this.”

A gentle smile.

“You can. And you will.”

Silence. A cry. A quiet yet loud cry. One teardrop. Two teardrops. A whole waterfall spills on the marble floor, that looks so shiny and so broken and so sad. A hopping candlestick.

“You both are too good for me.”

Sad eyes. A look of guilt. A look of shame.

“But we love you. We don't hate you because you made one mistake. You were young and everyone here has been young and stupid sometimes. But you have grown. We have seen you grow and you just deserve the world. You deserve everything and we will help you to achieve that. No matter what will happen. Even if that means we will stay forever like this. We will love you unconditionally.”

The clock nods.

“We have always loved you and we always will love you.”

“We are going to do this. We will surprise you both. Do what you love and that love will find its way.”

“He likes you. He likes you for your love of books and for your gentle soul and for you trying everything for him.”

______________________________________

“What is the special occasion for this?”

He is standing in a suit, and he has no idea why. He isn't used to it. He isn't used to the tight fabric around his body. He isn't used to this all in general. He never expected himself to be here, he expected that he would sit out his days somewhere in the village. He always dreamed of the idea of seeing the world. He always dreamed about nonexistent places and nonexistent people. But he slowly starts to get fond of it. The late night reading sessions, the diners -who are not that awkward anymore. He starts to get fond of the beast, who is so gentle and kind and human and is just someone who has the same interests as he has.

“You will understand soon. But look at you darling, you look splendid!”

And he actually does. He doesn't like to call himself pretty because, honestly, he is just someone ordinary. It feels like he is an completely different person, more confident, smoother, more handsome even. But this felt great. It even looked great. Suddenly his normally messy hair (it wasn't like he really cared about how it looked) was neatly combed and shiny.

He sees himself in another light, and he wants to stay in there forever.

“I do. I really do.”

“Come come, we have not much time left.”

He feels someone slightly pulling on his pants, trying to make him understand that he needs to hurry.

“Have a lovely dance!”

“Wait… a dance?”

The door suddenly closes in front of him and he stands there, absolutely stunned. A dance? He. Can. Not. Dance. This must be a joke right?

And somewhere in his mind, like the doorbell you hear slightly in the back, he hears a voice that he needs to move. So he does.

____________________________________________________________________

This feels like the cliche books he has read, ones he is embarrassed of reading, and now he actually is in one. He should be laughing but he isn't. Because this is bliss. The books didn't lie about all these moments.  
They told the truth when they were describing the nervosity that comes creeping through your skin, your blood, your bones when you are standing on top of the stairs.  
They told the truth that with every step downstairs the anxiety decreases, like a burden that is released and left of your shoulders.  
They told the truth that the person downstairs, who is watching every step of yours, is looking completely awed to you. And yes, he might have a temper sometimes.  
And yes, he might be a bit furry.  
But he looks amazing.

Everything looks amazing.

Did he do all this for me?

They told the truth when they are talking about the fluttering you get inside your whole being, that feeling that makes you feel like you are on fire inside, that you are completely breathless, when his hand -or paw, in this case- gently touches your body.

They didn't tell the truth about the graceful steps and the fluent dancing, though.

It was not perfect. They stood often on each other's feet, and no matter how much they tried to deny it later on (they just told it went smoothly), they wouldn't have been surprised if they had some painful toes the next day. Accidentally stepping on the foot on the other after a twirl, because balance problems. It was also common that their feet didn't listen and went the exact opposite way than they were supposed to. But they didn't really mind, not in that small fragment of time, that fragment that felt so brief compared to all the endless wars and endless romance that happens in all the stories they read and heard. They knew that this small moment of pure bliss could never last -at least not longer than they want to preferably- at least not in the books in which happy endings are almost the standard.

But they liked each other's company. They liked the gentle smiles that came from the other their face when that person accidentally stepped on his feet. They liked the blushing cheeks and the unspoken words, the music doing the talking.

The whole dance was made of unspoken words, and somewhere in the background was the music, completing the whole. He didn't know what kind of music it was and who composed it but he didn't care. Normally he would have wondered who it made, but the fact that this made it feel whole was fine, for now. An indirect declaration of respect, acceptance, of affection, of love. It was figuratively falling for one another.

He smiles because this is a whole lot better than the stories available in the library in his town.

The library.

It feels like an eternity ago.

He falls silent. A feeling of nostalgia and lonerism overwhelms him when he thinks about everything that happened there. He starts to forget the smell of the fresh baked bread, the sound of the librarian’s voice. He doesn't remember the late night shouting coming from the town’s pub. He loves it here, he loves the atmosphere and the the people here. But it still feels a little bit incomplete. He misses something.

And he precisely knows what.

“Are you happy here?”

Are you happy here are you happy here are you happy here are you happy here.

“I love it here. Absolutely. But there is one thing that I would like to see.”

“What?”

A deep sigh. “My dad. Just one more time. That is all.”

It is silent, and in this moment of silence he wonders what is going through the mind of the beast. What is he thinking? Carlos can't read his face expression at all, it looks completely stoic. Or… not? But what is he feeling then?

“I can do that for you.”

And in a blink of an eye there is a mirror. One he hasn't seen before, and one that isn't broken, at least.

“Everything you want to see, can be seen through this.”

He gently grabs the mirror, like it is some sort of lifeline, the only thing connecting himself to his dad.

And deep inside, he wants his dad to be okay. Because Carlos will be happy as well, but that there wouldn't be a chance that he has to go.

To end the brief seconds they had.

Carlos has already closed his eyes, probably to visualise his father, and Max is holding his breath.

The reaction did it.

The way his laugh dropped, the way his eyes stood in absolute shock, the way his body starts to shiver uncontrollably. He suddenly puts his hand in front of his mouth.

“What is it?”

He hands the mirror over to him, his hand still in front of his mouth and his eyes start to become glassy.

And then Max sees it.

The elder man, unconscious. His body is covered in cuts and bruises and his lips start to become blue.

“I…”

“I know what you want. Go to your father. Take care of him. I… will let you go. If you want, you can take this mirror with you. As a reminder… of our time.”

The words stumble out of his mouth before he has any idea what he just said. But he is on the edge of falling apart and yet he feels like this is more important.

His happiness is more important.

A slight look of amazement, a nod, hands reaching out to retrieve the mirror.

A turn. Footsteps. A door.

It is over.

Once he hears the doors closing and the footsteps fading away, Max allows himself to break down in pieces. He allows himself to break his walls and cry. He cries to mock and punish himself for everything that he has lost, in that small, brief moment. He has buried his face in his hands, and whether he tries to cover up his crying or something else, it doesn't work. You can see it by his shaking body, the cries that just scream defeat.  
The objects hop feverently towards the broken boy.

“Why did you let him go? It could have happened right there.”

He looks at them, who have been sticking with him since forever, ever since he has made the wrong choice back then, almost apologetic, because he knows. He knows it could have happened right there, but his instinct to let him go gave in.

He feels guilty about the fact that they had invested so much time in preparing this. And he was the person who was able to ruin it all for them, with just five words, five simple words.

I will let you go I will let you go I will let you go I will let you go I will let you go

“I know. This was the ultimate opportunity for this curse to be over, not just for me, but for every one of you. Every amazing person here, who love me for who I am. I don't deserve you guys.”

“And you know why I let him go? I let him go, because I love him.”

He remembers the look of surprise Carlos had.  
Did he think that much of me? An unpredictable monster who could be nice?

He breaks into tears, again and again, until he had let more tears fall than the rain outside did. Until he could see his own reflection on the floor. Until he has let the tears of so many years fall.

The objects let him be, for now.

After some time, he goes back to the rose. The one that started it all and the one thing that is supposed to be broken. It is kind of funny really. A rose, so beautiful yet vile with all its thorns. He thinks to himself that it is ironic. Should it resemble their relationship together? He, the boy who had just run away, is the rose. Beautifully shaped, delicate. And he is the thorns, who can only cause harm and pain and suffering.

____________________________________________________________________

Don’t be too late. Don't be too late.

He would never forgive himself if he got too late to his father.

The blue lips, the pale skin, his hair full of snow, the motionless body.

He runs and runs. And he suddenly reminds himself to the time when he had run the last time is feverently, which ended with wolves and blood.

This is not gonna end well.

That doesn't stop him from running. That doesn't stop him from running towards -and maybe indirectly also from- someone he loves.

Afterwards, he doesn't remember when he stopped. It felt like he ran forever, just like the last time. He stopped when he saw his dad, just lying there.

“Wake up, please!”

The tone is worried, desperate even. He grabs his father’s shoulders and shakes. And once he notices that a hand is stroking his cheek, he knows.

He is awake.

“Oh my god, I was so worried about you.”

He pulls his father in a tight hug, full of all the emotions and the feelings he wasn't able to say to him in the time being.

“What were you doing? Walking around here, in the midst of a storm.”

“I… was looking for you. No one believed me when I said that you were captured by a beast. No one. And since no one was willing to help me, I decided to look for you on my own.”

Silence.

“How… did you escape?”

“I didn't. It might sound weird to you… but he let me go.”

“He let you go?” It sounds like the words ‘he’ and ‘let go’ seem so weird next to each other, the combination coming across like all the possible antonyms. Light. Dark.

“He did. And yes, it might sound crazy. The person who held you as a trespassing prisoner. The person who just held me as his prisoner. But it is true. He has… changed. He is a gentle and kind person underneath all of the fur.”

“But enough talking. We should go back home. Wrap you up.”

________________________________________________________________

“Have you been searching that long for me?”

“I was so afraid that wolves might eat me there, alive and well. But the thought of finding you gave me such a feeling of adrenaline and determination that I couldn't stop. “

“But I wonder. How did you find me?”

And suddenly Carlos reminds himself of the mirror.

The mirror.

He wanted to answer, but he got interrupted by the heavy knocks on the door.

He opens the door.

“Yes?”

“We are here to pick up your father.”

“Why?”

“Because he will be heading to the asylum.”

“What? What?”

“This is an absolute misunderstanding! He. Is. Not. Crazy.”

“I can fix this up.”

And once he hears the voice of the one he absolutely doesn't want to hear. And he knows he doesn't get away with it that easily, at least not when the one proposing the idea is freaking Jean-Eric Vergne.

Keep the act keep the act keep the act.

“What are the conditions then?”

“Simple. You. Me. Married.”

Never.

“Never. Even if you were the last man left on earth.”

And on one side it felt relieving to finally say it out loud. But on the contrary, he also realises he screwed up, because this could have been his one and only opportunity.

The mirror

The mirror who was able to show you anything you wanted.

And in a rush and blur he grabs the mirror, intensely pretends the beast and holds it up.

“He speaks the truth.”

“Based on the blush, you probably like him.”

“If I am doing the math for myself, I would consider him as the enemy trying to take you away. Are you still okay? Has he possessed you? Because that sounds too… unreal.”

Jev walks away, not saying a thing. But Carlos is afraid. He fucked up he fucked up.

He needs to make this right again.  
____________________________________________________________________

He runs and runs and his legs are falling apart and he is running out of air and he is freezing and it has been more intense than the other two times but that doesn't stop him. It never did stop him from saving a loved one. And he would go to the extremes for it.

He shouldn't be late. Again. Never again.

And he suddenly is paralyzed. He watches the sight. He observes the sight. He notices the sight.

And he wonders how it is possible for Jev to be this quick here.

And he notices that this is an unequal fight, this is an fight that the beast can't win.

It might look like the latter would be favored in this, with his strong paws and the built of his body. But he isn't. You can see it by the slow reflexes, always just avoiding the weapon, the hopelessness radiating of his face. It looks like a battle already decided, and maybe that happened before it even started.

And an awful thought starts overruling his mind, crashing down like a meteorite.

That this is his own stupid fault. That he is the cause the other is suffering. It is a domino effect. With potentially horrible consequences.

And Carlos refuses to let that happen. Not in front of him. Never.

So he does the first thing that comes to mind, and his muscles cooperate smoothly, like it is just another sprint. Every step, every movement, every breath is already far gone, drifted away out of his mind, long forgotten. He just runs.

And this time he doesn't run away.

And suddenly, from the one second to the other, he feels it.

The agonizing pain in his body. The feeling of the sword tearing everything inside him apart. The feeling of the sword getting pulled back and tearing everything apart all over again. The feeling of all the blood suddenly leaving the single wound at high-speed. His first reaction is his hands grasping the wound, in an attempt to stop, or even reduce the speed the blood is flowing out of him.

And then he falls.

And it feels like he is falling falling falling for an eternity, deep into an endless void.

But he knows he isn't. He notices it by the cold, wet stones caressing his cheek almost in a gentle way. The raindrops splash on him, and he wonders if it started to rain harder, like they are crying for the potential loss of a loved one.

From the inside he does too.

And he doesn't know if he makes it.

But right now he is breathing.

But there is only one thing that he thinks.

Let him survive, please.  
  
____________________________________________________________________

Three things happened after that.

Shock.  
Anger.  
Death.

In the stage of utmost shock they stood there, completely paralyzed and motionless. The only sound that could be heard was the rain, wailing and howling and crying.  
On the contrary, they both do nothing. They stand, shocked, and for they allow themselves several moments of thinking.

They both are affected, the face of shock. The one is covered in blood and the other caused all the blood. But Max is considerably more affected by this.

He came back for me. He came back for me. I thought it was over, that our history is over. That it began with a shout and ended with a whisper. But not like this, never like this. I don't want him to die for me. Never never never never never never never.

In the second stage, the stage of anger. The stage in which someone acted purely out of anger, after releasing what had actually just happened to the person he loves, and in which someone else was still pinned to the place he stood before, too slow to react and too afraid by the anger that is radiating from the other’s face.

He doesn't even notice himself falling. He doesn't even notice himself falling, until his body hit the solid ground, which felt much harder than it probably would feel like on a normal day. But this is no normal day.

He doesn't die immediately. There are some fragments crossing his mind lf what he would have done if he had the opportunity to do it all over again.

He probably wouldn't.

The release of his last breath.

And then nothing. Just darkness.

Stage three has ended.

This is where it all ends.

____________________________________________________________________

And someone else up there wonders why he hasn't lost conscious yet.

He should have. Based on the wound and the blood loss, he knows he should be out. Even if it hasn't already happened, he would give himself around two minutes before the darkness would sink in.

He knows he is towards it though.

Everything is blurry and he has so much pain pain pain. And it is almost the sole thing he can think about. But he doesn't.

Because somewhere, far away there was a scream out of pure fear and he worries. He worries that it might be the person he would never wanted to lose, from the start.

He sees someone, or rather something, rushing towards him. He can't see who it is but the familiar voice calms him down.

“Oh my god, what have I done?”

There is a cough, and Carlos is preparing his body for all the words he wants to spill like a complete thunderstorm. He holds his breath.

“It… isn't your fault. It never was and it...will never be. I want you to not feel guilty about me, because… I chose for it myself.”

Cough. A twitch of pain.

“I chose for it because you don't deserve to… die, not like that. Because it was my fault. It is all my fault and… I should take the blame.”

More pain. A slight scream. Hands desperately trying to cover up the wound.

“They...wanted to take my father away. To an asylum. Because they didn't believe that you existed. But I...know you did. And I wanted to give them proof, to prevent my father being taken there. And then...the one who tried... to...kill you came after you. I know I screwed up. I needed to make it right… For me… for… you.”

“Because I hate to imagine that you will be gone. I hate...the idea of you lying dead in a pool. And...I have the blood on my hands. I can't imagine to lose you. I can't imagine the life shining...out of...your eyes. I can’t...imagine your smile being gone. Never seeing the light...again.”

“There...are so many words left unsaid between us. But…”

“I love you.”

And somewhere, far away, the last petal falls.

Carlos his eyes close.

There is light.

____________________________________________________________________

There is this bright illuminating light that is so painful to the eyes that you can't help but close them. But even when your eyes are closed you still can see the light shining so bright that you can not see black but some kind of orange. A light in which the world seems almost utterly white.

And suddenly it is over. The world is normal again. The rain is still falling down gently and quietly.

Eyes are opened. The person lying on the ground opens his eyes, catches his breath, and tries to sit properly by trying to pull himself up by his arms. The person standing is in a state of absolute and utter shock. And suddenly they both are.

They are staring at each other.

Max is staring at Carlos, and he sees the shocked expression and he wants to flinge. Is he still the same? Or worse, is he disappointed or afraid of his human version, if he actually turned human.

But the thing that stands out the most is that the severe wound is gone. The wound that should be life-threatening is just gone.

And Carlos is staring at the beast. Or rather, how he looks now. He looks absolutely beautiful and so fresh and welcoming and new.

He pulls himself up, not completely standing stable on his feet. Because the apparent healing of the wound still has left its marks. He is afraid he will fall, but the boy rushes towards him and catches him before he can actually fall.

They stare into each other’s eyes deeply. Tenderly.

They touch each other gently, mapping out the routes of their bodies guiding them to each other’s hearts. Fingertips brush over cheeks, breaths mingle. They look happy, their smiles brightening by the touch, by the breath, by the minute.

They slowly close their eyes, gently. Their lips touch, fragile, afraid if the other is okay with it. It isn't full of passion, but it is full of love and that is even more perfect. Their hearts flutter because this is even better then they both could ever imagine.

When they pull apart, Carlos hears a slight whisper in his ear.

“Call me Max.”


End file.
